Ethically Speaking
by Traycon 3 and Fishey Me
Summary: Someone is sick, very sick, and dying, and Bones doesn't know if he's ethically able to save him. Rated T for swearing and slash. SMc. If you don't like the pairing, don't read the fic.


Ethically Speaking

Summary: FisheyMe hearts her S/Mc goodness, and yet, despite this she has never written a Pon Farr fic. Until now! Someone is sick, very sick, and dying, and Bones doesn't know if he's ethically able to save him…

Rating: T

Pairing: S/Mc

Disclaimer: I own them? Sweet! I mean, wait… No I don't! Paramount does. Yay, Paramount!

Archiving Information: Please, no archiving without my permission. Overarching permission goes to the Spock/McCoy Haven and BLTS. All others must ask.

* * *

You know you're in trouble when one of your closest friends sweeps his hand across a table and causes vials of highly reactive and volatile chemicals to go crashing to the ground. Me, I'm in trouble. Maybe it wasn't a great idea to order him to come to Sickbay… Sure, and maybe it wasn't a good idea to use penicillin as a medicine; you keep thinking like that Bones, and they'll take your license away.

Dear God, I'm calling myself Bones now. Jim has been a bad influence on me. ANYWAY! I'm in deep shit. Spock is looking murderous, there are chemicals and broken glass on the floor, and I have NO idea why this is happening to me – never mind that I ordered Spock down here in the first place.

Any reasonable doctor would have, though… He was pale, couldn't concentrate, twitching… He looked sick. Come to think of it, he still does. Hm, bloodshot eyes, clammy skin, apparent inability to stand upright - probably due to a pain in the midsection, underweight, I'd bet my life that he hasn't been eating at all. Stupid Vulcan. He's going to be the death of me, and judging by the murderous look, I don't think I'm exaggerating.

"Spock, Spock, calm down. Whatever's wrong is no grounds for you tearing my brand new sickbay all to pieces. If you don't sit down on the biobed, I'll have to knock you out."

I never will understand his dislike of biobeds. He just glared at me and clenched his shaking fists. Why does this scenario seem so familiar?

"You could try, Doctor." He hissed.

"Don't think ah won't! Now lah down, damnit!" Oh, geeze, I'm getting so stressed my accent is getting thicker. Deep breaths, McCoy, he's just… Sick.

Duh.

"I was ordered to come down to this infernal location, but I have no intention of remaining. I am perfectly fine," Oh, yeah, right, "and I am needed on the,"

"Hmmm, did you miss where you knocked my experiment onto the ground, causing extremely reactive and volatile chemicals to come out of their now BROKEN containers? You might have glass or some deadly poison in your system now. NOW LAH DOWN ON THE BED!" None of my other patients make me yell this much.

Hah ha, he looks stuck. The light dawns: d'oh, shouldn't have done that stunt. Good going, Mister Computer, malfunctioning much? Finally, he sat down, but a part of me worries that if I get to close he'll twist my head off my neck. Oh, the joys of being a doctor.

"Don't know why you're so…" Go easy on him, McCoy, arguing with someone who might could kill you is never a good idea, "adverse to a routine physical. It's not like I was gonna give you a shot. Seriously, Spock, lie down, this won't take but a minute."

He looks like he'd rather gnaw his own arm off rather than lie down.

"C'mon Spock, it's just me. I've seen your innards and your outards so many times, you can't be…" Again, go easy on him. Choose your adjectives carefully. "Being modest. Relax."

He did look as though I made sense (for once in my life, I'm sure). At least he lied down.

Oh. Shit. "Oh, shit. Not this again." And, in retrospect, the symptoms didn't clue you in? Good going, McCoy.

"Unfortunately, yes. This again." He growled.

"Why couldn't this have happened while you were on Vulcan?"

Spock sighed. "Kohlinar is the aim to achieve total logic. We are taught how to suppress this."

"Well, that doesn't sound healthy." I mutter. "So, I guess we'd better turn this ship around and head to Vulcan." Again.

"Don't be foolish. I have no intention of returning to Vulcan."

"Uh, why not?" Aside from the obvious pain of knowing so far nothing there has done you any good. And why do I suddenly feel some kind of sadistic glee upon knowing this? Watch it, McCoy, you're venturing into dangerous territory, just let it go.

"There is no one for me there. Most, if not all Vulcans are bonded at a very young age to their mates, as I was with T'Pring. Those who were not have probably found other mates. Besides, as a 'hero' of sorts, I would be made offers by individuals who are less interested in me than they are of my status."

"Hold on, you're actually telling me that you'd rather marry someone for love than," You just couldn't have one conversation with this man without throwing the old argument into it, could you? "Than someone who would abate this condition as quickly as possible?"

"Not 'for love' per-say, but someone who would be compatible with me when regarding lifestyle, interests, and sexual attraction. To find someone who fit those criteria would take a great deal of time on Vulcan."

"What about here, on the _Enterprise_? You know there are more than a few women who would love bein' Mrs. Spock, or however you pronounce your last name. And if rank is an issue you don't want to face some of the old crew got promoted while you were on Vulcan." Uhura, Christine, and others… Hell, some idiot managed to sneak the promotion papers in before my retirement papers, so I was a commander for all of ten minutes before I quit, but telling you that at this particular moment might sound a little awkward.

"An ingenious plan, Doctor. Why don't I approach some hapless individual and say, 'good evening, I've never shown any outward attraction to you in all the years we've known one another, but despite that, I would like to ask you to drop any other romantic interest you might posses for someone else and become my mate in order to prevent me from dying?' Doctor, you are surely known throughout the galaxy for your brilliance."

The one time he's actually sarcastic and it's my expense. "Saved you plenty of times before, so shut it, smart ass. What's your bright idea?"

"I had no 'bright idea', Doctor. I have been attempting to devise one, however, _someone_ has been constantly interrupting my train of thought."

"I was just trying to help, you pointy eared elf!"

"I do not want _help_." Spock hissed, sitting up so violently that I almost jumped back. "I do not want to live for the rest of my days with a mate who only chose to be with me because they felt ethically obliged to _help_ me. If I simply wanted help, I would have asked Doctor Chapel, at least she has desired me for a great deal of time."

"I can't believe you're letting your damn pride get in the way of your life. Where's the logic in that? You woulda up and married a woman you felt nothing for seven years ago, but now you won't marry someone who actually might care about you just because you don't want her pity?"

"Or his pity." He muttered.

Whoa… Uh, damn, did I hear that right? I didn't know Spock was… Shoot, that explains a lot. "Or his, whatever floats your boat. God, Spock, I'm not telling you to knock up some little ensign, but there has to be someone on this ship you can go to… Hell, if it weren't horribly unethical, I'd…" NO! Don't you _even_ offer! Don't you even hint that you'd do that, because you know if he cocked his eyebrow just right at you you'd be all over him like white on rice, ethics be damned!

"I particularly do not want your help, Doctor."

Oh, so I'm not good enough for you, huh? "And why not?" Never mind that we argue on a day-to-day basis and have practically nothing in common.

"For one thing, you are afraid of telepathic intrusion into your mind. You are a doctor, for another. Also, you seem to have other… romantic pursuits."

I do? Hmmm… Who is he talking about? There's him… him… him, oh, and him. That's a whole lot of other pursuits right there. "Firstly, I wouldn't really consider you a 'telepathic intrusion,' hell, you've been in my head so often it's a wonder I don't leave a toothbrush in there for ya. Secondly, I'm not involved with, or after, anyone." Except you. "So, I guess one-outta-three ain't too bad. I am a doctor, and ethically, I don't think I could sleep with a patient, even to save his life." Not that I wouldn't want to. I lean on the biobed, facing away from Spock, thinking. Damn ethics… The only time in my life that I'll ever get a chance to offer, and I can't because it's a goddamned medical problem.

Spock hefted up on his elbows and cocked his head just so. "Are you implying that were it not for your ethical guidelines, you would choose to become my mate?"

He had to ask. "Uh…" And I bet he's even got some logical little loophole that's gonna wind me up in the sack with him. "I'd have to say so, uh, but I am ethically prohibited…"

"Exactly what are the ethical guidelines, as you understand them?"

"Spock, you really should consider someone else. You'd hate yourself in the morning," I laugh. "You can't seriously be considering me for this; I'm like the most unlikely person in the galaxy for you to even want near you, much less as a mate."

Spock actually scoffed. "You are rather unobservant."

And coming from Mister 'Constantly-States-The-Obvious' Spock, that was saying something. "Oh, so I suppose for all these years you've really been trying to get under my skin just to make me break down and fuck you on the bridge. _Right_."

"You did not answer my question. What are you're ethical guidelines, as you understand them?"

"A doctor doesn't sleep with a patient. It's taking advantage of someone who cannot refuse, or believes they have nothing to loose. Or it's wielding your power as their position over them. Or it's counter transference. It's not safe for hundreds of reasons…"

"First, I am perfectly capable of refusing. Second, I have a great deal to loose. I am aware of this. For instance, I could end up hurting you mentally or physically or I could realize at a later time that the arguments were simply that – arguments. Next, I still out rank you, and it was I who suggested it, not you. Finally, after nine point six years of acquaintanceship, I sincerely doubt that anything we feel toward each other is transference or counter transference."

"Of course, you would be able to slice my logic to bits with better logic."

"Your ethics are not in fault. I would not recommend you sleep with say Lieutenant James, but circumstances being what they are," I felt him put his hands on my shoulder. His temperature was up two degrees. Sad, he's trying to seduce me – which I would normally die for – and all I can think of is his health. Damn.

"Circumstances being what they are? Spock, you're in the Vulcan equivalent of heat! You're dying! Let's reanalyze that 'having nothing to loose' thought!"

"Yes, I am dying. Perhaps you should consider what is more important." Spock actually nuzzled my ear, "My life, or your ethics."

"Sometimes, I hate you so much."

"We seem to share in that predicament. Sometimes, I hate you as well. I would not like for that to be the case now." He moved his hands up to my neck. For the moment, he was just caressing it. "I have my own ethics, Leonard. One of which is that I choose to avoid violence unless it is absolutely necessary. Another is that I choose not to use my telepathic ability to make someone do what he would not normally do. I would truly dislike having to abandon my morals." He applied slight pressure to my neck with his thumb, nothing painful, but enough to remind me of what he could do. As if I could forget.

"You expect me to sleep with you now that you've threatened me?" I growled.

"I merely state facts. I never make threats." He moved his hands back down to my back and began rubbing it pleasantly. "I am desperate, regardless of how one interprets it. I cannot force you to do anything, otherwise your mind will refuse mine and the effort will have been in vain. But I can promise to make the experience as pleasant for you as possible. You will not find yourself in bed with a computer, or left after the necessities have been met, if you desire. You will be my mate. I would choose no other, even if I were not in Pon Farr."

"How romantic of you." I muttered. "Just what ploy are you _not_ going to use?"

"I will not beg."

"Nice to know." I sigh. "How long do you wager I have to think about it?"

"I would prefer you be expeditious. You cannot imagine how painful it is to be in this state. Not physically, but mentally."

"You really are trying every ploy, aren't you? Seduction, threats, bribes, appealing to the healer in me…"

"What ploy will it take to win you?"

"You can't be that desperate!" It's just too hard to believe that someone like him would want someone like me so badly…

"I am. I will not beg, but I…" He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me so my back was against his chest. "I need you, Leonard."

Yes. I know I could have fought a little harder. I could have been a little tougher; after all, I had been waiting nine and one half years to hear him say something like this. I knew that all I had to do was hold out a little longer, and I hear him at least say he liked me… But I couldn't. I'm not so cruel.

"Okay…" I agreed. "But not in Sickbay." Though that might have gotten him over his immense dislike of biobeds. I turned to look at him. "And not during shift. Meet me later?"

"Your quarters, 1900 hours." He purred, yes, purred in my ear. I hummed sensually by way of agreement. Then I kissed him. He had it coming.

He stood to go, so I gave him some painkillers and a poly-nutrient/multivitamin blend to hold him over and ordered him to eat something – anything – before going on duty. He said he'd have a clean up crew come deal with the wrecked experiment.

Then he kissed me back. I guess I had it coming. Punishment for betraying my ethics.


End file.
